


Confessions Without Words

by Johnlockian



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Christmas, Fluff and Smut, I don't know what I'm doing sorry, M/M, cases
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-26
Updated: 2012-12-26
Packaged: 2017-11-22 11:24:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/609294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Johnlockian/pseuds/Johnlockian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How Sherlock and John enjoy their Christmas season.<br/>This is what happens when I try to write a drabble and it turns into a fic... For the Sherlock Secret Santa.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Confessions Without Words

 Winter was colder than usual. White sheets of snow had fallen during the days, then turned to slush as people milled around doing their Christmas shopping, only to freeze over during the nights to create a death-trap of ice throughout the city of London. It was hazardous to even step outside, yet Sherlock still insisted on chasing suspects through alleys with black ice and across roads where the cars couldn't even break properly. All of this only gave John more cause to worry as he slid along after the genius detective.

Luckily, they managed to wrap the case up fairly quickly by cornering the criminal in a back alley. No doubt Sherlock had mapped out that that one had a dead end and somehow influenced him to turn that way, while John could only follow on, concentrating on not falling over.

The trip home in the back of the cab was spent breathing on hands to regain feeling and sharing smiles with faces flushed from the cold and exertion. They didn't talk, they just shared each others company and felt the same comradeship as always buzzing through the air between them.

That evening they fell onto the sofa to watch crap telly together, laughing at how absurd the plot lines were and Sherlock (as he always did) commenting on how the acting reflected the actors lives (three having an affair, two with each other, one hating his job and another trying to edge into the lead role). Sherlock explained it all with a lazy air, flapping his hands at the television as though it should be obvious for everyone who ever saw the program. John just laughed again and warmly told him it was only obvious to him because he was brilliant. At that, Sherlock sighed dramatically and stretched out over the whole of the sofa, uncaring that John was still sat on it.

“What's the use of being brilliant when the world is full of idiots that would be impressed by half of my skill, John?”

John only rolled his eyes and beamed some more, unconcerned by the insult. He secretly thought that if Sherlock only had half of his skills in the first place he wouldn't feel that gap between him and the rest of the “boring ordinary people” quite so much, but John wouldn't want Sherlock like that, or any other way...

The evening passed with John content to sit and watch program after program simply because he didn't want to move, it was an unusual occurrence for Sherlock to allow such prolonged proximity, so he'd decided to indulge himself with it. However, Sherlock had a reason for allowing the closeness, no matter how selfish the reason was. He'd fallen into a deep thought, cataloguing the effect touching had on him and noting details about John, the minute differences from viewing him from that lower down angle and how the expressions flitting across his face reflected his emotions so openly. It was a welcome change from how guarded John usually was when they were outside together or around others company and it made Sherlock reassess how John was around the flat usually. He came to the some what startling conclusion that John was completely as ease around him, something no-one had ever been. Not his previous flat mates, not his family... they'd always been waiting for the next thing he did with baited breath, probably wondering if something was going to explode. But John, John was different (oh so different and how fantastic that was to find), he relaxed around the flat and fell into a comfortable routine around Sherlock, they moved around each other like magnets, mirroring each others movements and knowing instantly if the other wanted something passing to them (the latter was usually Sherlock needing another pipette or bleaker for his experiments but John had taken to only complaining with a long suffering sigh and an air about him that said he'd give in anyway if Sherlock needed it that badly.) John was a constant. John managed to relax in the battlefield of life they had together. It was a small revelation, but it had a more profound meaning to Sherlock and as that realisation struck him he realised another thing simultaneously, he'd do anything not to give that up. So, the next time Sherlock noticed John's eyes flicker over to him he gave him a small smile full of understanding and comfort, which John returned with a softness in his eyes that made Sherlock's heart ache.

Tension coiled inside of John, sparking between them with much more tenderness than usual to the point it was almost too painful. But, the moment lasted mere seconds before John averted his eyes, panicking internally that if Sherlock hadn't known how he felt before then he certainly did now.

The tension was broken and with puff of breath outwards, Sherlock craned his neck back so his head could rest on the arm of the sofa, closing his eyes to summon up image after image of John's expressions, comparing them to the look he'd just received. It made his mind whir, spinning with the underlying similarities he found in all the looks John gave him. He didn't say anything and they fell back into their previous occupations, John watching television and Sherlock watching John through his eyelids.

Evening turned to night but John sat arguing with himself about staying on the sofa with Sherlock longer, even though he was exhausted from the long day. He'd almost decided to keep still, until Sherlock himself moved, when he glanced over at Sherlock again and saw he'd fallen asleep. So, with another small smile and no thoughts what-so-whether, John bundled Sherlock up into his arms and gently got up to carry him to bed. He tucked Sherlock in, loving how peaceful he looked in deep sleep, then brushed the hair off Sherlock's face with his fingers before leaving to go up to his own bed.

That night, sleep came easily for both of them and nightmares stayed away completely, letting them rest in their warm beds blurrily dreaming of each other.

Their next big case came a week later on Christmas eve. There'd been a bomb scare in a major shopping centre and Sherlock had been called to track down the people responsible and direct the bomb squad to the bomb (if there really was one). It'd been almost impossible to get through the crowds being herded to the exits, Sherlock had been bombarded with too much information as he scanned them all, searching for a key factor, anything to hint one of them had just placed a bomb. In the end it was John, who's senses were in overdrive, who spotted a small man break away from the crowd and into a back-room. He pointed him out to Sherlock and Sherlock's eyes lit up with excitement as he spun around to tear after the man. John wanted nothing more to pull Sherlock back and get them out of there and well out of the explosive range. But, ever the soldier he followed, keeping back in the shadows, sneaking between the boxes in the room so he didn't give himself away. The room opened up into a big hall for storage of goods, not yet on the shelves, before the man finally stopped at the other end noticing there was no way to escape. He whirled round snarling and glaring at Sherlock.

“You're haven't got time to stop it now! Ten minutes and boom! All of this is, up in flames!” His voice rung out, echoing down the aisles. Sherlock paused in his pursuit and so did John as he hid in the shadows parallel.

John sent Lestrade a text telling him their location. Meanwhile, Sherlock tried to reason with the man they'd followed in, dazzling him with information and logic. As usual, John was baffled by how much Sherlock knew about the gang and the individuals involved who'd arranged it all, and made a mental note to ask him how he knew later after it was all over. John could see the little man getting more agitated, eyes burning with anger and hate as Sherlock unravelled all his secrets, but he was too captivated by Sherlock's brilliance to warn him. That was until he saw the man's hand twitching towards his belt.

An “and that's why your wife left you.” later and the man was pointing a gun directly at Sherlock's heart. Sherlock didn't look concerned as he lifted an eyebrow at the man in mocking, suggesting he really didn't have the guts to pull the trigger. John saw the man's hand shake, making him readjust his grip with a squeeze on the trigger as if in slow motion. He inhaled sharply ready to cry out.

But then, there was a bang and John moved without thinking, diving to push Sherlock down and out of the way. They fell into a heap on the floor as boxes crashed down around them. John braced himself, squeezing his eyes shut, as he crouched over Sherlock, protecting him from being crushed. The whole scene was a mass of bangs and confusion as the aisles fell in on themselves. Yet still, John could hear the distinctive clatter of a gun falling to the floor in shock and footsteps as the man ran away.

They laid there looking at each other and breathing heavily under boxes until Sherlock seemed to recover from the shock and gave a little nod. Then, John stood letting the boxes balancing on his back to crash to the floor and gave Sherlock a hand to help him up, looking him over with a sweep of his eyes to check he was okay. Sherlock nodded again.

“I'm fine. Better off than you I'd say. I... That was, good of you. No doubt you save-”

John cut him off with a look. “Later. Right now our suspect is escaping and a bomb has six minutes to before it blows... unless he was lying?” The last bit was tacked to the end as a little unrealistic hope and John sighed when Sherlock shook his head minutely. “Right then. What do we do now?”  
“Nothing we can do. The bomb's been planted in the other half of the shopping centre. I saw it the moment I realised our man was the diversion.” Sherlock looked a bit put out by that fact but quickly got his phone out sending out numerous texts.

“What are you doing?”

“Best I can do. The bomb squad have been informed. We'll find out in six minutes if they succeed in their task or not.” Sherlock shrugged non-chalantly.

“I suggest we get out of here, then. We may yet catch that guy in the crowds...”

Sherlock shook his head frowning, “Forget him, John. He's an idiot. Not even a higher up in the organisation, they'd planned for him to get caught. We'll catch him when we catch the whole lot of them later but for now he's unimportant.” He glanced down at his phone again, then suddenly, Sherlock grinned and took off running in the direction of the exits. It was all John could do to follow suit.

They tore through the now empty halls and out into the street where Sherlock proceeded to hail a cab, jumping in and giving an address John had never heard before to the driver. “Where are we going?” John hissed as he tried to catch his breath. Sherlock gave a wink and grinned more before replying.

“To break into bombers central.”

A cab ride later and they were sneaking into a warehouse on the outskirts of the city. However, to Sherlock's displeasure and John's great pleasure and relief, Lestrade had got there first and only needed Sherlock to explain the intricacies of the case before they were sent away again.

Sherlock huffed all the way back to the flat while John tried to cheer him up by saying he'd solved that case anyway, so it didn't matter that they weren't there for the final moments of it. John received a death glare for that comment but it softened moments later as John shrugged and turning away to look out the window, quietly murmuring, “Well, it could have been worse, today I could of lost out of something much more important than a bit of excitement...”

As soon as they were back at the flat Sherlock gathered up his violin and disappeared into his bedroom for the rest of the evening. John just smiled to himself, had some food, a relaxing a cup of tea and a long soak in the bath before going up to bed. In bed, he glanced at the present he'd wrapped for Sherlock and bit his lip. He didn't really know what Sherlock would think of it, Sherlock didn't really _do_ Christmas, merely tolerated it. Would he welcome a present? Yet still, John _did_ do Christmas and he'd wanted to get Sherlock something, though he was beginning to wonder if it had been the best idea. He worried about it for quite some time before finally drifting off into an uneasy sleep, settled only by the muffled sounds of Sherlock's violin in the room below.

John rose at his normal time the morning after, and hummed songs to himself as he dressed in his Christmas jumper and padded downstairs to make breakfast for the two of them. He couldn't hear any sounds from Sherlock's room now so knocked on the door as he went past calling, “I'm making tea and toast, come out when you're ready!”

Sleepily, Sherlock stirred from where he was curled around his violin on top of his sheets, waking up from a not very restful night with a yawn. Within moments he'd dragged himself out of bed and wrapped himself in one of his dressing gowns hanging on the back of his door. Then, he stepped out to sit at the table with John, stealing a piece of toast from John's plate on the way, even though he saw John had made him his own. John beamed at him and greeted him with a cheerful, “Merry Christmas!” to which Sherlock nodded, continuing to munch on the toast.

They spent the morning relaxing in front of the television together and Sherlock commented that Christmas TV was more mind-numbing than the usual inane drivel they had on all the rest of the year. John laughed and agreed since even he couldn't appreciate the cinematic delights of repeats of the most ridiculous Christmas specials ever. Sherlock disappeared to his room shortly before noon, when mouthwatering smells were beginning to drift into the flat, only to return within minutes, fully dressed in one of his best suits. John appreciated it silently as they then proceeded to go down stairs to Mrs Hudson's for Christmas dinner.

She opened the door and promptly gave them both a kiss on the cheek, fondly saying, “Happy Christmas! Come in my dears! Dinner's almost ready and you better help set the table, I'm not doing all the work myself. You've got to do some, I'm not your housekeeper.” Sherlock smirked and John produced a present for her before going to lay the table out with plates and Christmas crackers.

Christmas dinner far out did Mrs Hudson's usual standard of cooking and even Sherlock managed to eat a plate full as they laughed along together. At some point during the meal Mrs Hudson commented “Oh! Look at you two! I don't think I've seen a two people who go together so well in all my days...” and John simply smiled on, letting it pass without objecting, much to Sherlock's satisfaction. They caught each others gaze and laughed together some more.

That afternoon, Mrs Hudson came up to their flat and they were joined by Lestrade and Molly for a couple of hours. They drank a glass of wine each, swapped presents with their guests and watched some more crap telly until Mrs Hudson insisted they switch over to the Queen's annual Christmas speech. Sherlock agreed only on the pretence that they turned the dratted television off afterwards because he was bored of having his braincells die for no good reason. Still, once the screen was black again, he let himself to be talked into fetching his violin from his room to play Christmas carols so the rest of them could sing along. Mostly, he did it because John looked excited at the idea when it was suggested by Molly. All in all, the day went smoothly and it was after tea when Sherlock and John were finally left alone to relax again.

John had been worrying about giving Sherlock his present all day, anxious over whether he'd accept it or not, decided he'd better get it over with or he might never do it. So, he went up to his room to grab the present off his bedside table and came back downstairs to hand it to Sherlock wordlessly. Sherlock grinned at him like a child before commenting, “I thought you'd forgotten me.” in mock concern. John snorted and rolled his eyes, letting all his worry evaporate away.

“Go on, open it, you git.”  
Instead of doing what he was told Sherlock turned the parcel over to read the label, noticing how much more effort John had put into wrapping it than the other gifts he'd given on behalf of them both. The label read: “To Sherlock, I hope you enjoy our Christmas! Love, John.” He didn't comment. Only, slipped his fingers between the paper to reveal a little box. Inside was a rather nice watch, with a leather strap and a silver ringed face that had little planets etched around it. Also, there was a white card with simple black print, not unlike a very boring business card saying: “Your delivery of 1 item, _Indesit TLAB25 Larder Fridge_ is scheduled to arrive on _December 27_ _th_ at 1:00PM _.”_

Sherlock looked at him questioningly as John smiled and sheepishly said, “Well, I knew you'd notice it if I had it delivered before hand. It's for your experiments.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes, letting a small frown line appear on his face as his eyebrows bunched together, “Yes, thank you, John. I'd figured that much out.”

Now, it was John's turn to look confused, “What is it then?”

“You put 'From' in all the other cards.”

John blushed slightly and tried to speak, “Yes well...” But Sherlock interrupted him.

“Let me give you your present before you reply.”

At that, John looked completely mystified. “... _You_ got _me_ a present? But you didn't get anything for anyone-”

“Hush, John. Now go sit down whilst I fetch it.” John did as he was told, settling into his armchair and letting his mind buzz. _Oh Jesus, Oh Jesus... Christ. He hadn't even noticed he'd done that while writing the labels... and Sherlock had. And had commented. Crap. And Sherlock was giving him a present? What even... He hadn't expected that._

As John sat looking a little stunned, Sherlock wandered in a equal state of growing anticipation to his room to collect the manuscript he'd written last night. Technically, he'd not intended to give John a present at all, but last night he'd stayed up late to write and perfect a piece he'd written with John in mind. Though at the time the thought that he might play it for John hadn't yet surfaced as more than a passing fancy. It was only as the day progressed that he started wanting to do so, then thought perhaps maybe he should and finally, in a spur of the moment decision on John giving him his own gift, decided he would. At least it would be fitting.

He wandered back slowly, avoiding looking at John out of fear of getting stage fright, and John watched on in amazement as Sherlock set up his music stand, angling it away from him, and fetched his violin again. On the stand he placed the sheets of music, which only had one word on the whole spread: “John”. Sherlock had never been so nervous about performing a piece of music in his life and didn't dare even look at John for a second before he got into position and slowly started to play.

The music that came forth was a maze of ups and downs and speeding tempos in contrast with lazy moments filled with beautiful note progressions. It told a story without words, and one of epic proportions at that. One full of danger, excitement and sorrow but most of all love. Half way through Sherlock closed his eyes and played from memory, letting the sounds travel through him, vibrating right to his very core. John sat spellbound, watching the elegant movements of Sherlock's body, swaying in time, unbelieving that anything so breathtaking could be for him. Emotions bubbled up inside of him and he wanted nothing more in those moments then to be swallowed up by the music and taken inside that world Sherlock had created for them. Sherlock played for an indeterminable amount of time until he brought the bow down on the strings for the finally, letting the last note be drawn out, then fade into silence. With his eyes still shut, he left it there still vibrating between them even as the sounds were no more. He let his bow and violin fall to his sides without making a sound.

They were both silent. Waiting with breath held tightly in their chests, next to their hammering hearts, for a few long moments. That was before Sherlock managed to turn his head to chance to look at John, who was now looking on at him with a mixture of awe and a heartbreakingly open expression of adoration, a hint of tears brimming in his eyes. Sherlock's own eyes went wide as he let his violin crash to the floor so he could move swiftly in front of John, stooping down before him so they were on eye level. John blinked the tears away and lost himself for a moment.

Sherlock's voice was husky and low and full of emotion as he drew John back by uttering one word, showing a fragment of the unease he felt as he waited for John's reaction, “Well?”

That was when John kissed him. Pulling him close with a hand wrapping into his hair. Passionate and hard, like the entire world depended on that moment. And that was when Sherlock kissed him back. Falling to his kneels and pushing forward with lips and tongue, with equal fervour and emotion spilling out of him, like music had filled his moments.

They parted, breathing heavily and gazing at each other with wonder. The tension in the air between them only intensified as the time went on. John tried to speak a few times, opening his mouth but closing it again with a smile. In that moment, they understood each other completely. In the next, Sherlock was kissing John again, smiling, and softly, heartbreakingly, moving them both together, without even breaking eye contact. It left them both wanting. Wishing for more as their mouths pressed over each others faces, lips locking together and their breath mingling.

John's arms went around Sherlock, running down his back and trying to pull him onto his own lap, but succeeded in only ruffling up Sherlock's previously immaculate suit. Sherlock laughed a low chuckle and stood, breaking them apart to offer his hand to John. John blinked at him before placing his hand in Sherlock's and was consequently pulled to his feet, kissed heavily for a brief moment, then lead to Sherlock's room.

There was no uncomfortable silence as they entered, only the happy buzz of _finally_ as they fell into bed together. John's jumper was pulled off unceremoniously and thrown to the floor as Sherlock straddled John's lap, hands roaming up under his t-shirt. Sherlock's shirt was pulled from his trousers and unbuttoned slowly, revealing smooth skin which John immediately kissed. They clung to each other, a mass of warmth and love and movement, each touch saying what they felt in words neither man would ever be able to muster. And each touch promising more.

Their kissing turned frenzied, leaving them both gasping and rocking together. Biting at lips and sucking at necks, they were frantic, Sherlock almost tearing John's t-shirt off as he fell backwards, bringing John firmly down on top of him. John gave a low moan and moved down, kissing and licking his way over Sherlock's exposed skin. Aching his back to try and get more contact, Sherlock pulled John up again, pressing their chests together as his hand snaked between him towards the top button on John's trousers. Then he paused, looking up at John, wide eyes full of lust, yet still asking for permission to go further. Nodding, John pushed forward, grinding into Sherlock's hand with an encouraging smile.

Sherlock licked his lips and kissed John again, slowly this time, drawing it out, teasingly as he worked. Within seconds he had John's trousers open and started pushing them down. But, John pulled back rolling his eyes with a smirk and took over, grabbing all the fabric at his waist and sliding the tangled cloth down his legs, kicking it off completely to leave himself naked.

Sherlock barely had time to notice just how hard John was before John pounced at him again, pinning him to the sheets with a growl. Their erections pressed together as they kissed with a ferocious heat which left Sherlock gasping for John. John moved down again, licking and breathing over Sherlock's skin as he held Sherlock down. He bit at Sherlock's suit flies, unhooking them with a well directioned tug, before unzipping them carefully. Licking spit-filled swipes over the underwear beneath to make Sherlock whine and flail his arms to grip tightly at the sheets.

“John... John...”

“I know...”

Quickly, John removed the rest of Sherlock's clothes, throwing them off the bed for space. Then, he moved, kissing up Sherlock's leg and breathing in the scent of him on his way back to eye level.

All their desires bottled down to this. This raw, intense and inexplicable feeling that they needed to be together, in all ways. They rubbed and kissed, entwined together; making each other dizzy. Fumbling as they stroked and tried to hold on to each others skin at the same time. They resented when their movements made them move apart even for mere instants and sought to keep as much contact as possible. Sherlock clawed his hands down John's back trying to get a hold, making little red lines blossom as John moaned. His reality was being flooded with John, his brain was being overloaded with John, his _everything_ was John's, in entirety. All of his senses on fire, dazzled by the light John seemed to give to them. They sped up, shaking and altering their thrusts to keep close.

It was nearly too much for John to handle as the fiction started to make it uncomfortable, but he still wanted more. Luckily, Sherlock noticed and stilled them, rolling them over and giving John a kiss on the nose before he moved off.

John was left cold and aching as Sherlock moved to grab a half-empty bottle of lube from the drawer. As John watched a sudden recognition passed through him and he ached his eyebrow, “Isn't that my-?”

Sherlock didn't answer, merely flopped back on top of him, letting his legs settle either side of John's. He passed the lube to John and pressed down very gently. John groaned and didn't lose another moment flipping the cap open and squeezing some out on his hand. Then he took them both in hand, stroking lightly until Sherlock starting thrusting forward.

The new waves of pleasure left him gasping, “Fuck... Ohhhh, shit.. Sher-lock.” which in turn made Sherlock groan, pushing forward faster and gasping little kisses over all the skin he could reach. A thrust moving him too far forward had John's cock slicking it's way further back between his legs making him spread them a little more to get comfortable again.

John trailed his other hand down Sherlock's back, leaving a little line of lube behind down Sherlock's spine which added to the pleasure made him shiver as John grabbed his arse. Sighing, John massaged it, gripping tightly as they continued to move together finding their rhythm again. That was, until John dipped his finger and brushed against Sherlock's hole, producing a moan from him as he arched his back. Then, slowly Sherlock bared down on a draw-back stroke, pressing John's finger inside of himself fractionally. John's eyes went wide, letting his finger twitch as Sherlock rocked back and off with a groan and a smile.

Beaming back at him, John had a silly grin on his face until Sherlock wiped it off by thrusting. Hard. Leaving John panting and nearing the edge. Sherlock continued to thrust, loving the warmth between their bodies and the pleasure coiling deep inside him but most of all he loved the look of utter openness on John's face as he moaned and came apart beneath him.

A few thrusts later, John was spilling over them both, face contorted as he gasped out Sherlock's name. Sherlock kissed him then, deeply and full of the deeper sentiments that fuelled him at that moment. As their lips brushed together Sherlock lent forward, balancing his body away from John's so he could pump himself in quick strokes, watching John's face intently. John opened his eyes again slowly, batting Sherlock's hand away and rolling him onto his back. He slipped down to lick lazily over Sherlock's nipple and give little kisses as he half laid on Sherlock's chest, taking over work on his cock.

Soon, John had Sherlock pushing up into his hand, with moans of “Johhhn” and gasps at the pleasure that left him writhing on the bed, hair splayed out around him. It took a while before Sherlock felt his peak nearing, but when he did he glanced at John, silently begging for him not to let up his pace just yet, and forcing himself to keep his eyes open so he could keep their gazes locked.

John stroked lovingly over Sherlock's sides and told him to breathe as Sherlock panted, nodding and curling his toes. John hindered the unspoken plea, stroking Sherlock to completion, letting bliss roll over him in waves as the tempo they'd built together turned to deep breaths of relaxation. They laid there together in a little bubble of happiness and acceptance, with their emotions lain bare before the each other for a long time before John moved away to pick up his shirt and wipe them up a bit.

When he came back into bed, John tugged the covers up, wrapping them round them both as he hovered over Sherlock again, simply amazed by how soft Sherlock looked. In return, Sherlock was the most at peace he'd ever been with the world and in a moment of glee rushed forward, placing his hands on either side of John's head and clumsily kissed him again. John grinned back at him, relaxing onto him again with a sigh. So, with a sigh of his own, Sherlock looked down John on his chest with that bright look of uttermost contentment, and pulled him closer to bundle him up in his arms. Holding him close, he whispered. “Happy Christmas, John.”


End file.
